


Different Strokes

by 3RatMoon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Masturbation, Multi, Trans Male Character, these fools need to relax once in a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22896523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3RatMoon/pseuds/3RatMoon
Summary: The different ways the blue lions get off
Comments: 3
Kudos: 63





	Different Strokes

**Author's Note:**

> Shout outs to the masturbation character study fic I read a good ten years ago with the same name. I don't remember the author or what fandom it was for, but it still left an impression lol
> 
> General content warning in the last short for mentions of Dimitri's mental illness (audial hallucinations, delusions, murder fantasies), sorry buddy,

When Felix got off, it was always rushed. He rarely indulged when he felt the urge; there was almost always something better to do, be it training, or a meeting with the King, or shouting down a noble who badly deserved it. By the time he got time to himself on days like that, he felt electric, his skin too tight, frustrated by waiting and frustrated by that frustration. He would only take off what was in the way of getting his hand down his pants, suppressing a groan of relief when he finally got his fingers on his clit. He would rub at himself furiously, up and down, arcing his hips up and gripping the sheets in his fist.

Sometimes, if he was hungry for it and not as rushed, he would sink a couple fingers into his cunt. Those times, his fantasies were more vivid, imagining someone else’s fingers or someone else’s cock inside him. The fantasies helped to drown out the fear that someone would hear his helpless gasping, the wet sounds as he thrust in and out. There was inevitably some embarrassment after he came, over getting so caught up. Sometimes, though, he would be able to allow himself a moment to rest, to enjoy the ache like he did after training, like he had actually accomplished something.

\- - - -

Ingrid did not feel the urge to touch herself very often. It just wasn’t something that was on her mind. Sometimes, she wanted to relax or needed some help getting to sleep, but even then, she didn’t pay much attention to finesse. She simply rubbed at her clit, slowly and then faster, until her orgasm washed over her like a wave.

It wasn’t until she first took a lover— another pegasus knight during the war— that she considered the body, her body, as a whole. Through the other knight, Ingrid learned that she liked it when someone cupped her breasts in their hands and squeezed. She still felt only lukewarm about anything inside of her, but she considered the whole of her vulva when she stroked herself, after. She liked having this new knowledge of her body, after so long mapping its strengths and weaknesses, honing it into a weapon of war. It felt almost poetic to learn how to bring more pleasure into the world instead of more death. Ingrid liked that, even if she was the only one to enjoy it.

\- - - -

Ashe first learned about pleasing himself when reading a book about chivalrous exploits. It was fairly popular, so when he came upon a particularly racy scene, it took him by surprise. He was familiar with desire and its acts, of course, but it had never come upon him so sudden and bright and warm, like a drop of ink in water. He touched himself as he read, and it was thrilling in a way nothing else had been before.

Though it embarrassed him, Ashe became quite fond of salacious texts after that. He gathered a small collection of his favourites, and discussed in quiet whispers with some of the other students at the Officers Academy about which books were more realistic, or had a satisfying premise, or indulged particularly strange fantasies.

One of Ashe’s favourite books came to be one detailing the love affair between two knights during a war. He liked to kneel face down on his bed and touch himself as he read of one knight tenderly bending the other over in his tent. Ashe couldn’t reach far enough to finger himself satisfactorily, so he just clenched his muscles as he stroked his cock and imagined himself being fucked lovingly by another knight, covered by his body, enveloped by his size. He imagined that he was in his lover’s tent instead of his room, and had to keep quiet not to disturb the camp, and that was why he would muffle his cries in the blankets as he came over his fist.

Then, after he had cleaned up, he would lay in his bed and sleep, and he would dream of the embrace of another.

\- - - -

Annie would never admit how often she got herself off. She thought the mistake was in using an orgasm as stress relief too often, because she found that any intense situation started to cause that tell-tale heat, muscles twitching and blood pooling between her legs. It made the war awkward as well as stressful for her, having to excuse herself to find somewhere discreet enough to get a hand under her skirts.

She found more and more creative ways to please herself as time went on, improvising different tools, and even using magic. The first time she used Thunder to stimulate herself, careful to keep the sparks small and diffused across her sex, she came four times before collapsing in her bed. She accidentally napped for three hours and missed a meeting with her battalion, but she had felt more rested than she had in weeks.

After the war, Mercedes introduced her to a merchant who had much better toys than the ones she made. Things were a lot easier after the war, in terms of privacy and stress and tools alike. When she started courting, it felt less embarrassing to talk about her libido. It even turned out that her toys could be enjoyed by more than just her, and that was probably her favourite part.

\- - - -

For Sylvain, it was a nightly ritual: do stretches, wash his pits, floss his teeth, go to bed, rub one out, go to sleep. It changed if he was in someone else’s bed, of course, but that wasn’t as often as some people had been led to believe.

He liked to start slow, just feeling the drag of his foreskin over the head of his cock. He fantasized about someone’s tits, or someone’s ass, or someone’s cock, touching the inside of his thigh just for the memory of something soft. He wasn’t opposed to muscle— he’d gotten hard watching soldiers at the training grounds more than once— but there was something unique about people who had some softness to them.

After a little while, he would speed up his hand, and his fantasies would turn to fucking. Whether he was on top or bottom didn’t matter to him. He often fingered himself, partly because it felt good, and partly just for general upkeep. Once, early on in the war, he went through a dry spell, and he’d had his fingers in his ass almost nightly before he found a grappler willing to top him. It was some of the best sex he’d ever had, and it was likely at least partially due to his nightly habits. The grappler had told him that if there were tournaments for such things, that Syvlain would be “a champion to taking cock,” and Sylvain was surprised by how flattered he was. Ever since then, he bottomed more, whether for someone else or just himself.

Especially for someone as active as him, not every orgasm was perfect. Sometimes, he fell asleep in the middle of it and didn’t get off at all. Even so, that was alright with him. It became more about the habit of it than the end goal, the journey rather than the destination. He could be a champion at taking cock and a Bishop of masturbation, he thought. It amused him. He considered telling someone about it sometime.

\- - - -

Mercedes was a simple woman with simple tastes. Before the war made trade difficult, she’d had the good fortune of acquiring a dildo from a discerning merchant, but she still liked using her hands best. Mercedes loved nothing more than returning to her chambers after a bath, laying out on her bed, and fingering herself until she came with a shuddering cry. She liked to pinch her nipples until they were hard, and then she would use one hand to rub her clit and the other to thrust in and out of herself. 

People likely thought of her as celibate, being a holy woman. Her bed was her own business, so she had no desire to correct them, but for her friends, she was only too happy to discuss sexuality. It was cute how they blushed and spluttered, but Mercedes was always kind to them. All of them were a self-sacrificing lot, herself included, and she felt it was important for them to have something for themselves.

She had never taken a lover, but that didn’t bother her. She was satisfied knowing that the Goddess would provide. She already had more wonderful friends than she could ever hope for, and she had her sexual desires covered on her own. What harm was there in waiting?

\- - - -

Dedue didn’t indulge in that part of himself often. He was so accustomed to self-denial that he didn’t notice his desire at all for some time. But, it prodded at him with steady patience, and he eventually realized what the feeling of warmth low in his gut meant. After that, when he felt that feeling late at night, after Dimitri was finally able to sleep, he would lay in his bed and touch himself.

Sometimes, he simply used his hand. Sometimes, a direct touch was too much, and he would rut against the mattress until he came. Other times, he used a carved phallus, fucking himself until just putting his hand around his cock was enough to push him over the edge.

The act itself was thrilling, of course, but Dedue’s favourite part was the peace that came over him afterwards as he lay in his bed. It was something only comparable to when he worked in the gardens, something precious and rare for people like him. So, though he didn’t always feel like he needed to, he tried to remember to indulge sometimes. There was honour in self-denial, of course, but as he got older, he started to understand the honour in caring for himself, as well.

\- - - -

Dimitri tried to take things slow when he got off. He had romantic ideals about sex, and that extended to masturbation, even if the two acts were somewhat different. He liked the idea of stroking himself slowly, letting the pleasure wash gently over him. However, it was almost always overwhelmed by the rushing thoughts in his head, the whispers threatening him from the margins. He was almost never able to enjoy anything slowly.

Instead, he pumped his fist until the sensations were loud enough to drown out his mind. He thrust up into his hand, squirming, sweat trickling down his forehead into his hair. It was so hard to mute his thoughts, his shame at laying in his bed and touching himself when he could be out there getting his hands around her neck (no, no, she was already dead, it didn’t matter), shame at still being tormented by the dead when he didn’t even know what they wanted, anymore.

Sometimes he was not able to come, working himself until he collapsed in his bed, frustrated and damp. Sometimes, though, for a few blissful moments, there was only him and his body— his hand on his cock, the taught lines of his torso as he arched up, then again, then finally released. It didn’t take long for the voices to trickle back in after that, but sometimes, if he was lucky, it was just long enough for Dimitri to fall asleep.


End file.
